


The Straw that Broke

by Askellie (NadaNine)



Series: SLAUE [20]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Bondage, Gags, Humiliation, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual, Orgasm Denial, Permanent Injury, Soul Breaking, Torture, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 03:10:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16987020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadaNine/pseuds/Askellie
Summary: A monster's soul is the absolute culmination of their being, and you should never,evertouch it with any sort of ill-intent in your heart...and you absolutely shouldn't try and force the broken pieces of a soul back together without considering how your intent might reshape the pieces.(Swap) Paps has made a terrible mistake.





	The Straw that Broke

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was a delightful commission for someone who wanted to see me expand upon [this idea](https://askellie.tumblr.com/post/150751503441/what-would-it-take-to-make-edge-beg-in-slaue). There’s still so much more I want to do with this piece, so I’ll definitely be coming back to revisit it at some point with a continuation, maybe do a concurrent piece from Papyrus’s point of view because aaaahahaha. >D Breaking skeles is fun!
> 
> Content Warnings: Edge/Papyrus; Edge/humans, extremely non-consensual, molestation, eye-trauma, orgasm control/denial, soul torture, soul fracturing/injury, gags, bondage, voyeurism, non-consensual interspecies elements, permanent trauma, Papyrus fucks up badly.

There’s a frenetic energy in the household in preparation for the evening Gala. The servants that usually operate almost invisibly throughout the estate are suddenly as prevalent as a riled horde of ants swarming over their nest, dusting and polishing, rearranging the furniture, cleaning the windows, ensuring everything is spotless and perfect. Edge finds it a little bewildering that Chara would be so invested in appearances, but it seems the small Master of the household barely has anything to do with the preparations. Papyrus manages most of the arrangements, handling the endless queries and demands of the staff with remarkable aplomb.   
  
Chara stays holed up in their bedroom, requesting Red for entertainment whilst ordering Edge to stay out. Their meaningful smirk as they drag Red into their den, closing the door behind them, is clearly meant to rile him and unfortunately it succeeds. Edge stands guard outside the door, unable to enter but unwilling to leave until his brother re-emerges. He barely manages to restrain himself from pacing the hall, knowing that Chara is watching over the cameras and probably laughing at his unease.   
  
Papyrus comes to find him almost an hour later, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and flour from the kitchens smeared on his shirt. “You know, you’re not doing Red any favours, hangin’ around like that.”  
  
Edge knows he isn’t. He was the one who insisted to his brother that they should keep their relationship a secret, and yet he can’t help himself. Red has always been weak, and Papyrus had lived for months with the possibility of his brother’s death overshadowing him. He doesn’t want to risk that becoming a reality even if there’s very little he can realistically do except hold his vigil and hope for the best.   
  
“What do you want?” he asks, hoping that maybe Papyrus is here to interrupt Chara’s fun and force the human to attend to his own responsibilities.  
  
Unfortunately, that turns out not to be the case, as Papyrus pulls the length of a leash from his belt. “I’m here for you. You’ve got a job for tonight too.”  
  
Edge grumbles belligerently, but he allows Papyrus to attach the leash, reluctantly getting to his feet and letting the other skeleton guide him along. The familiar sting of humiliation barely registers any more. Having had his eyes opened to the extent of Chara’s depravity, the leash is just one small indignity, and one of the more bearable ones.   
  
He expects Papyrus to put him to work with Blue and the other Papyrus, working in the gardens or  cleaning the far corners of the mansion. Instead he’s led to the upper floor and into a parlour he’s never seen before. The staff have clearly been through already, leaving the room smelling of wood polish and fresh roses. The room is furnished for comfort and relaxation, with plush chairs arrayed in a circle around a central podium that Edge thinks might be for a musician or some other sort of performer.  
  
As he gets closer he realises his mistake. It’s certainly for a performance of some kind, but the familiar hooks in the floor and ceiling suggest an entirely different sort of entertainment. His body goes tense, and Papyrus has to pull hard on the leash to encourage him to follow the last few feet.  
  
Papyrus clucks his tongue in mock disapproval. “Don’t tell me you’re losing your nerve already. We haven’t even started yet.”  
  
He pushes firmly on Edge’s shoulder, which the latter resists just long enough to prove that he could put up a fight, but in this instance is choosing not to. He drops down to his knees on the platform, maintaining as much poise as he can as Papyrus nudges his legs apart and guides him into the proper position.   
  
He doesn’t enjoy being bound, but he’s been forced to get used to it. Even when he attempts good behaviour, his revulsion frequently overcomes his self-control. It’s difficult not to fight when he knows that he can, that all it will take is one lucky opportunity and he could break free…but unfortunately that’s all he could manage. The security of the Estate is too thorough for him to easily make a getaway and he has no solution for the collar around his neck keeping his magic sealed. In some ways, being restrained makes the process easier because at least then he’s not forced to be complicit in the heinous acts Papyrus frequently demands of him.  
  
The downside is that the clamp of pressure on his bones from rope or chains is now one he’s starting to associate unavoidably with sex. Edge does his best to keep his face averted as Papyrus pulls his wrists over his head, cuffing them to a long chain dangling from one of the overhead hooks, knowing his expression will betray the unwanted heat suffusing his bones. His discretion proves to be completely ineffective as Papyrus chuckles at him, crouching down beside him and guiding Edge to face him once again.  
  
“You want something, Edge?” he asks, smirking and nuzzling against the sharp angles of Edge’s jaw.  
  
Edge jerks back, though the rope quickly pulls him up short. He scowls fiercely, face flushing with the tint of his magic. “No!”  
  
But his bones tremble a little in anticipation as Papyrus strokes down the sides of his ribcage, his touch somehow even more pervasive through the ridiculous, gauzy shift Edge wears. The material is so flimsy Edge frequently debates whether it would be better to simply go naked if not for the indecency of it. It certainly offers very little protection from the skillful hands delicately tracing the sensitive undersides of his ribs.   
  
“You really protest too much to be very convincing,” Papyrus muses. His hands fall lower, briefly grazing the crests of Edge’s ilium before coming to rest on his splayed femurs. He nudges Edge’s knees slightly further apart, and takes a minute to apply another set of cuffs, binding his thigh bones to his calves to prevent him from rising, forcing his suspended wrists to stay taut, and then fixing the restraints to the floor hooks to ensure he can’t close his legs to preserve any modesty. Edge squirms slightly to test his range of movement, but Papyrus has left him very little. Familiar unease crawls up his spine. It somehow doesn’t manage to distract the part of him that wants to be soothed by the equally likely possibility of pleasure.   
  
An unexpected raking of phalanges up his femurs makes him arch and hiss, only proving Papyrus’s point.   
  
“It’s not so bad, is it?” Papyrus asks, gently teasing at the fabric that barely covers Edge’s pelvis, making it flutter distractingly across his pubic bone. “You looked like you had fun the last couple of times.”  
  
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Edge snarls, trying to pull away, but the recoil of momentum from the restrains drags him right back into Papyrus’s hand. His pelvis rocks against the other’s bony palm and he splutters, a jolt running up his spine.  
  
Papyrus grins easily, unoffended. “Why don’t you summon your cock for me?”  
  
Edge gives him a wary look, slightly surprised by the order. Usually he’s ordered to use penetratable anatomy, and given their surroundings he thought that there would be more of an audience before they got started. It’s both humiliating and reassuring to have the other members of the harem present when Chara wants to see him played with, and he’d assumed that was why Papyrus had chosen their current location.   
  
A more insistent pressure against his pubic symphysis reminds him that if he doesn’t comply on his own, Papyrus can still force him to manifest, which is always much more uncomfortable. Trying to ignore his personal misgivings, he summons his cock, shivering slightly as it displaces the hem of his shift. The silky fabric feels foreign against his summoned flesh, though not entirely in a bad way.   
  
“Very good,” Papyrus purrs, and there’s no denying the way Edge responds to that fervent praise. He’s always strived hard for the approval of others, for his brother, for Undyne, for the recognition of his peers. His cock twitches, and Papyrus hums in appreciation, taking the shaft in hand and giving it a slow, tantalising stroke.  
  
“You’re going to be entertaining some of Chara’s guests tonight,” Papyrus tells him, his hand squeezing around Edge’s shaft in a way that makes the scarred skeleton writhe in place. Papyrus is being more generous than usual, offering plenty of friction, his phalanges squeezing and touching in all the right places. “They’re humans so they might be a bit rough, but nothing you can’t handle.”  
  
Edge goes suddenly still, the promising heat evaporating into a cold sweat. “Humans?”  
  
“Yeah,” Papyrus says, keeping his voice light, but there’s no way he’s missed the way Edge has gone tense against him. “S'not really any monsters left in the nobility, you know. Who did you think we were entertaining?”  
  
Edge hasn’t really given it any thought. He never expected to be involved in any capacity, given how little contact he’s had with anyone in the household save those in the harem. Now he’s supposed to be entertaining guests? Humans? With his body?  
  
It’s one thing for Papyrus to touch him. The other is at least another monster, and one surprisingly skilled in guiding others through the intricacies of pleasure and pain. He’s not trustworthy in any sense, but he’s proven reliable. Edge knows what to expect from him. Good behaviour is rewarded, bad behaviour is punished, and when Papyrus isn’t under orders he tends not to be too stringent about keeping Edge in line so long as he isn’t presenting a threat to anyone. From some of the stories Red has shared about his own previous owners, Papyrus is positively kind by comparison.  
  
But humans aren’t like monsters and Chara is the perfect example of that. The Dreemurr heir is mercurial, pointlessly cruel, and completely unrepentant, just as Edge has always been told that humans would be. The humans who had captured him had been no different. They had lashed out at him for no reason. They had created rules only to see him break them, and tried to order his compliance only to justify their desire to punish him. They were despicable, irrational creatures, and the memory of their grimy hands on his bones was one that frequently intruded in his nightmares.  
  
He shudders in absolute disgust. “ _No_.”  
  
“No?” Papyrus echoes blandly.  
  
“I refuse,” Edge clarifies, trying to squirm away from Papyrus as much as he can, which admittedly isn’t far. His shaft is still half-hard in the other’s grip, but his revulsion has gone a long way towards killing his libido. “I will not allow _humans_ to touch me.”  
  
Chara attempts it every so often, and generally only succeeds when Edge is either bound too tightly to move, or is so completely exhausted he’s barely cognizant of it happening. Even then it’s usually only some pretence of affection – a condescending pat on the head or a stroke down his spine, never anything directly intimate. Edge hasn’t quite figured out the peculiarities of Chara’s preferences, but the small human seems to prefer to watch rather than participate, which Edge is inordinately grateful for.   
  
Papyrus considers him thoughtfully, seeming more unperturbed by this declaration than Edge would have expected. For a moment, a part of him dares to hope that Papyrus will reconsider. Surely he knows it would end badly to allow Chara’s human peers to play with a violently unwilling slave. Papyrus knows Edge’s limits and rarely oversteps them. He’s chided Chara several times for trying to push Edge too far, too fast.  
  
“Well I’ll pass that on, but I don’t think it’ll make much of a difference,” Papyrus finally says, his tone almost indifferent, and Edge almost feels betrayed. There’s nothing sympathetic in Papyrus’s expression as he looks Edge squarely in the eye. “Besides, if it’s not you, it’ll probably be Red. Did you think about that?”  
  
Edge snarls at the blatant manipulation. He can only blame himself for allowing his protective sentiments towards his brother to shine through. “What about _you_?”  
  
Papyrus just laughs at him, a warningly sharp sound. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To see our positions swapped. Have me on my knees in front of you, helpless to your touch.”  
  
He jerks Edge’s cock roughly, no longer kind, but the sharp frisson of contact is startlingly effective at bringing Edge back to full hardness. His phalanges squeeze roughly until Edge unwillingly loosens a whine at the harsh sting of it.   
  
“Sorry, pal. You’re not nearly ready to do my job,” Papyrus says, the scorn in his tone making Edge instinctively cringe. “Don’t flatter yourself in thinking you’re anything better than a fuck toy for Chara to make use of.”  
  
His taunt hits Edge with all the impact of a blow. He feels almost shocked, because outside of Chara’s orders Papyrus has never shown a propensity for cruelty. For manipulation, yes, but not for words so heartless Edge feels them cut deep into his barely preserved pride, leaving him suddenly at a loss.  
  
Papyrus is quick to take advantage of his sudden lack of resistance. Edge feels a clinch of pressure at the base of his conjured flesh, tight enough to be painful, followed by a rattling vibration that he’s become all too familiar with. Edge stares downward, aghast at the tight band that’s been fastened around his shaft. It’s tight enough to delay the impending feeling of orgasm, but also thrumming with motion, urgently stimulating, ensuring that his erect member can’t even consider diminishing in any capacity.  
  
His wrists pull futilely against their tether, unable to reach down and relieve the tension. He squirms, looking up at Papyrus uncertainly. “Hngh…what…?”  
  
Opening his mouth only gives Papyrus the opportunity to gag him. He almost chokes on the thick bit, his jaw forced achingly wide around the padded bar as it’s fastened in place with more vehemence than usual.   
  
“We’ll see if you’re feeling a bit more compliant in a couple of hours,” Papyrus says, negligently dusting himself off and rising to his feet. “Guests will be here soon. I’ve got to get things ready. In the meantime, you might wanna check that attitude of yours. Humans don’t like to see a monster getting uppity with them.”  
  
It’s one of the rare times where Edge isn’t entirely sure he can read Papyrus’s mood. He seems both angry and resentful, though perhaps not at Edge specifically. Either way, he understands he’s somehow said the wrong thing, because there’s no parting reassurance as Papyrus leaves him alone with nothing but the unbearable vibration of the toy to keep him poised on the precipice of orgasm with no ability to achieve it. A brief testing of all his bonds proves that, as per usual, there’s no slack or possibility of relief. His legs are folded comfortably enough, but he’s sure his arms will start to ache the longer they’re forced to dangle towards the ceiling.   
  
Time passes with painful slowness, his frustration and dread at war with boredom and regret. Normally he can distract himself with thoughts of escape or retribution, fantasising about Chara’s estate being overrun by the rebellion with Undyne at the head of the charge, determined to set Papyrus and his brother free because of course the two of them were far too important to be left for dead…he desperately wishes that were true, but common sense tells him that such an assault would be far too much risk for too little gain. At the end of the day, he and his brother are expendable soldiers, nothing more.  
  
Expendable soldiers for the rebellion, and expendable toys for the humans. He can’t stop himself from replaying Papyrus’s harsh assessment over and over in his mind, feeling more ashamed and helpless with each repetition. He wishes his internalised revulsion could somehow make him immune to the external stimulation, but every so often his body will convulse with a failed attempt at orgasm. The resounding ache builds up in both his groin and his soul, making it difficult to think past the pain.  
  
He’s so consumed by it he doesn’t even hear the approach of Chara until the human is abruptly crouched beside him, drinking in his expression of pain. “He’s looking much more repentant now, don’t you think, Papy?”  
  
Edge jerks slightly, coming out of his haze. He hazards a glance upwards and sees Papyrus standing just behind Chara, his expression distant, not even focused on Edge. He makes a non-committal sound, taking a heavy drag from his cigarette in what Edge has learned to recognise as a disgruntled gesture.   
  
Chara seems unperturbed by Papyrus’s less than enthusiastic response. “Well, he’s probably had enough time to think things over. So how about it, Edge? Are you gonna be good for my guests?”  
  
The way he asks almost makes it seem like he’s giving Edge a choice. He glares at the human warily, jaw clenching around the bit. He can’t bring himself to say yes, but at the same time, he’s no longer in any state to provide much resistance. After a moment he shudders and allows his gaze to deflect to the floor, hoping Chara will read whatever answer they want from his submissive posture.  
  
Chara hums thoughtfully. “What do you think? Is that a yes?”  
  
“Dunno,” Papyrus says, voice flat, and Edge suddenly realises how much his own resilience has relied upon having Papyrus act as a buffer between himself and the human. To be suddenly without that safety-net is harrowing.  
  
“You don’t know?” Chara asks, sounding both surprised and amused by Papyrus’s disinterest. Their eyes sparkle with glee. “I guess that must be a no then. I suppose we’ll have to take some extra precautions.”  
  
Chara reaches for Edge, their small hand grazing along his sternum. “Give me his soul.”  
  
Edge jerks back with a muffled snarl, eyes wide with outrage, because he never imagined Chara could be so indecent as to demand such a thing, but the very last thing he could be prepared for is the moment Papyrus complies. He wheezes, body convulsing as the familiar grip of the other skeleton’s blue magic clamps around his soul like a vice and mercilessly drags it from his chest, forcing it into being and into Chara’s waiting grip. He has only a moment for absolute horror to set in before he feels the human’s hands on his soul and–  
  
–it’s warm.   
  
Curious.   
  
Heavy.   
  
Suffocating.  
  
The pressure on the raw nerves of his soul immediately translates as unwelcome pain, and he screeches in blind panic, feeling the entirety of his being exposed and invaded in a way he’s never experienced. The torture seems endless, but in reality it’s probably less than a minute before his soul starts to settle, numbing to the foreign sensation just enough to return his lucidity.   
  
“Huh,” Chara muses, poring over the soul in his hand. It’s a pale, delicate construct, looking oddly dwarfed even in the hands of a child. “I thought it would be more exciting than that.”  
  
“You’re human,” Papyrus says, though his voice sounds very far away; muddied. Edge can’t bring himself to focus on anything except his soul. “You’ve got too much physicality to interact with a soul properly.”  
  
“Red never wants his to be touched, though,” Chara muses before prodding Edge to get his attention. “Does it hurt?”  
  
There’s no possible way anything good can come of answering that question, but with his soul bared Edge can’t manage any form of deception. He nods fervently, gasping unevenly around his gag. There’s a pounding rattle in his ears, and he belatedly realises it’s the sound of his own bones shivering in stress and fear.   
  
The answer seems to please Chara. Their soft, pink lips curve into a benevolent smirk. “Then it looks like you have a good incentive to behave, yes? So be good.”  
  
There’s a boorish crash from across the room as the door is carelessly kicked open. “Oi, Chara, there you are. I thought you promised us some entertainment?”  
  
Something dark and vile crosses Chara’s face before it’s immediately covered up by a more pleasant expression as they turn to greet the newcomers. “But of course! We just finished preparations. See for yourself.”  
  
Chara steps away, and Edge feels a painful hook in his chest as his soul is pulled further from his physical body. It leaves him dizzy, and he can only vaguely make out the forms of the humans striding into the room. There’s more of them than he dared to anticipate and he feels unprepared for the cold horror that strikes through his undefended soul. There’s nothing for him to hide behind, and no way to escape. The humans bustle forward, crowding him with an air of predatory interest.  
  
Though he hadn’t given any thought to the nature of Chara’s peers, Edge is still surprised that most of the humans seem older than Chara, or at least taller and more heavily swathed in ostentatious trimmings of luxury. Where Chara has always favoured simple shirts and slacks, their guests wear layers of jewellery atop rich silks, their faces and nails painted, their smiles fixed in careful masks that hide their fangs.   
  
A tall, broad-shouldered human with dark hair pinned back with an ornate brooch sidles up to Chara, looking conspiratorial. “Is this one of your pets, Chara? From your special monster harem.”  
  
A different human, this one female, laughs with a sound like shattering glass, high and mocking. “My, my. It’s already aroused. How shameless!”  
  
Edge shrinks down beneath their gaze, feeling utterly humiliated. He wishes he could banish the jutting display of his cock, but the tight band and its steady vibration prevent him from de-constructing the organ until its need has been fulfilled. He ineffectively tries to close his legs, then simply buries his face against his upraised arm, trying to blot out the invasive, hungry gazes.  
  
A squeeze around his soul makes him flinch with a tight, pitiful sound, jerking his gaze back to Chara. The small human leers at him wickedly. “Come on, Edge, don’t be shy. My friends just want to play with you…and if you ask nicely, maybe one of them will take care of you.”  
  
“Ooh! We can touch?” The female steps forward eagerly and presses the tip of her dainty shoe to the joint of Edge’s hip. The hem of her skirt brushes against his cock, a gesture Edge doesn’t think is accidental. He huffs, eye-lights flicking from the unsatisfying stimulation.   
  
Before he can watch her continue, his skull is yanked upwards, and he finds himself looking into the piercing eyes of one of the other humans. With no regard for his person, they run a finger along the jagged crack extending above his eye. The scar is an old one, but the bone is still tender along the inner parts of the fracture. His protest is garbled and ineffective as they consider the imperfection. “Hmm, damaged goods, Chara. Where did you even get a thing like this?”  
  
“Black market auction house?” one of the others titters with daring excitement.   
  
“I’m afraid I can’t reveal my sources,” Chara says archly. Edge wants to look to them again, want to keep an eye on his soul, but either the human examining his skull is unusually strong or else his own body has become weak. He keens uneasily, hardly aware of the noise he’s making. There’s too much happening all at once.  
  
A new pair of hands is suddenly rudely shoving inside his rib cage, feeling around the cavity with inexperienced abandon. “Wow. There’s really nothing in here. I thought the rest of its body must just be invisible or something.”  
  
“So what’s holding it together?” the one holding his skull asks, and as if to answer their own question, the human begins to pull his head away from the rest of his body as if to test how firmly attached it is. Edge thrashes desperately, feeling agonised spikes of pain through his cervical vertebrae where the magic tries desperately to hold together.  
  
“I said you could play, not that you could break,” Chara chides, but their voice is sharp enough to give the reckless human pause. With an unsatisfied frown, they release their grip, allowing Edge to breathe again albeit with new difficulty, feeling invisible tears strangling his throat.  
  
“Does it eat? Where does the food go?”  
  
“Does it feel pain? Are there nerves in bone?”  
  
“Ooh, look, it’s so hard! Does it like this?”  
  
Pawing, clammy hands run over his bones, making him quiver and flinch. Chara idly answers their questions, mostly with grossly misleading exaggerations as Edge endures the degrading inspection. He doesn’t dare struggle with his soul still held in Chara’s grip, not even when someone sticks their fingers into his eye-socket. The sensation of someone feeling around inside his skull in one of the most harrowing he’s ever experienced, and when they finally release him he’s uncomfortably aware of the way magical residue has poured down his face in a thick deluge of tears.  
  
“Oops,” the human says, looking at the slippery residue over their fingers. “That didn’t hurt it, right?”  
  
“I don’t think so,” Chara replied from their reclining position on one of the sofas. “Actually I think he liked it. Look!”  
  
His violated eye refuses to work, but with his other Edge blearily focuses on Chara again to find the human gleefully showing off his soul and its new, slippery coating of silvery fluid. He hadn’t imagined his mortification could heighten, but he never thought humans would be crass enough to stare at his blatantly oozing soul. The lubrication has eased some of the harshness of Chara’s touch, but now their hold is one that fills him with desperate and overwhelming pleasure. Every unwanted touch makes it worse – the oily fingers clawing at his spine, groping his ribs, toying cruelly with his shaft. He’s helpless in their hands, and despite himself he can hear his own defeated whimpers ringing in his ears, wordless, garbled pleading.   
  
“Hey Pap, you can finish him off, right?” Chara asks. Edge had almost forgotten the other skeleton was still in the room, waiting patiently and silently at Chara’s side. The human casts their eyes over the room and in a conspiratorial false whisper they ask, “Have you ever seen a monster come with their soul before? It’s quite a show.”  
  
The most prominent of the females, whose skirt has been mercilessly tickling across his femurs, claps her hands together. “Oh, do show us!”  
  
With varying levels of reluctance, the humans clear the space around him. Released from their suffocating closeness, Edge has a moment to try and catch his breath, quivering in front of them, his bones still rattling anxiously. His wrists are chafed from mindlessly yanking against the cuffs, and he’s suddenly aware of how clammy his bones are, damp with sweat and saliva and the build-up of stressed magic with no place to go. The vibrating ring on his shaft still hasn’t let up, and there’s a steady drip of fluid from the tip of his cock despite the pressure keeping him from his release. The sticky residue has collected beneath him in an embarrassing, crimson-tinged puddle. He feels truly disgusting and unclean.  
  
He can tell without looking the moment his Soul changes hands. Chara’s hold is thick and heavy, opaque except for the strongest of their feelings, but Papyrus is another monster and his touch is familiar, illuminating and yet even more damaging because Edge can feel just enough to know that Papyrus doesn’t want this either. It’s a terrible feeling, to have the most vulnerable core of your being exposed to another and to know beyond any shadow of a doubt that they inherently reject you. Edge feels his eyes burning with unexpected emotion.   
  
He looks up at Papyrus, hoping widly that the silent desperation in his expression might convince the other to refuse, but Papyrus’s expression is almost blank. He doesn’t look at Edge. He’s focused on completing the task as ordered, nothing more. Monster souls are made of love, compassion and hope, but absolutely none of those are present in Papyrus’s callous hold, and it’s practically branded into his awareness that there is nothing personal about this as Papyrus gently squeezes the delicate shape of Edge’s soul and focuses his intent into a single, penetrating idea.  
  
 _Come_.  
  
Edge can only obey, but the sensation is about the furthest thing from pleasure he’s ever experienced. His soul constricts and then bursts outwards, vibrant, uncontrolled magic gushing freely in a shifting array of sparks and light. It is, as Chara claimed, an impressive display from a purely aesthetic sense. The room is filled with wisps of shimmering colour, the haze almost like a confined nebula of stars. The soul itself has spent itself, silver, luminescent liquid dripping down over Papyrus’s hands in an obscene display Edge would have been striken by if he’d had any wits left whatsoever.   
  
Instead he feels…numb. Strangely so; the kind of disconnect that comes with shock, where everything feels dim and inconsequential. He’s faintly aware that his cock has finally disappeared, likely having shorted out during his soul’s climax. The vibrating band has dropped to the floor, still thrumming incessantly, the noise almost soothing. He feels emptied out and spent, like nothing else could possibly matter now, so he isn’t sure why his vision is blurred with the overflow of tears building up in his sockets spilling down over his chest and dripping towards the floor. He doesn’t feel sad or upset. There’s a distant feeling of hurt, an ache in his soul, so he guesses they must be tears of pain though the sensation is only a vague, indistinct feeling.   
  
“Shit.”  
  
Edge isn’t sure if Papyrus actually says the word, or is just thinking it very clearly. He’s upset. The feeling transmits very clearly through Edge’s soul, feeling more real and pertinent than any of his own emotions.   
  
“Fuck, fuck, I fucked up. What the fuck. Chara, get the fuck out, I need to fix this, fuuuuuuuuuck…”  
  
He’s pretty sure now Papyrus can’t actually be talking aloud – not with that level of vehemence in front of all the humans. Edge can hear the distorted babble of their conversation, the delighted cheer, the mocking derision, sharp and soft, confusing and irrelevant. Chara’s voice cuts above them, their voice making him flinch on instinct, but gradually he becomes aware that the noise around him is diminishing as the humans leave to rejoin the celebration downstairs. He should feel relieved by that, but it makes little difference now. There’s nothing left they haven’t seen from him.  
  
Eventually he becomes aware of familiar bony hands trying to brush away his tears. The scrape of bone on bone isn’t very effective.  
  
“Hey, Edge? Hey, come on now, it’s over. You did great. You were very good. Everything’s okay, yeah?”  
  
Papyrus is concerned. Contrite. Afraid? Sickened. The feelings twist in Edge’s soul like a knife, making him heave wetly against the gag. Papyrus immediately moves to unbuckle it, never letting up on his quiet reassurance.   
  
“Come on, Edge, I know you’re stronger than this. You’re real tough, yeah? A real badass. You’re fine. You’ll be just fine. See, here’s your soul back, and…”  
  
Papyrus falters, his hands outstretched with Edge’s soul cradled carefully between them, and Edge can see for the first time there’s a new, pale line running along its translucent surface. For a moment he mistakes it for a shadow or some distortion of his vision, but he’s seen enough of those on his brother to recognise a soul fracture for what it is.   
  
It takes a great deal of emotional pain to put cracks in a monster’s soul. Funny; he still doesn’t feel anything except what Papyrus is broadcasting through their touch, which at the moment is a great deal of guilt and stress.  
  
“Come on, take your soul,” Papyrus insists, his voice gentle. It takes longer than it should. Edge’s soul should be desperate to return, but instead it lies still in Papyrus’s hand. It doesn’t make any effort to move until the other skeleton tucks it back under Edge’s ribs and the natural magnetism of soul and body weakly tugs it back into place, its physical manifestation dissolving away. The hurt Edge had been faintly aware of becomes suddenly much more pertinent. It’s a weight on his chest, making it difficult to breathe.   
  
“Okay, good,” Papyrus approves, patting Edge’s skull haphazardly before moving to untie him, his usual natural grace oddly clumsy, his movements twitchy and tight. “You’re doing great. We’ll get you cleaned up and you’ll be good as new. It’s just a little crack. I bet you can barely feel it. It probably won’t even scar, so don’t worry, okay? I got you. I’ll take care of everything.”  
  
The words didn’t mean much of anything to Edge right now, but they seemed to be helping Papyrus stabilise himself so he made no objection as the other gathered him up into his arms, holding tight as if it could somehow fuse the crack in Edge’s soul back together.


End file.
